Ghiacciato
by babywitch
Summary: Ice is cold. It's transparent and hard and it doesn't change. Colin feels like ice. Slash.


Ghiacciato  
  
i.  
  
Ice is cold. It's transparent and hard and it doesn't change. Colin feels like ice.  
  
Amy's mouth is warm liquid gold opening for him, surrounding him, but even inside her like this, Colin is still trying not to shiver.  
  
Colin thinks he remembers his mother telling him once not to suck on ice straight out of the freezer. A few days after coming home from the hospital, he did it anyway, to see what would happen. The ice had simply glided between his lips and begun to melt, trickling cold water down his throat.  
  
Blow jobs, Colin overheard in the locker room two days ago, are better than fucking, because you don't have to worry about the girl not getting off. He doesn't know why he remembers this random piece of information and forgets his locker combination, which he uses every day. He thinks that whoever voiced this particular opinion had probably never gotten a blow job, because Colin remembers physical therapy more comfortable than this.  
  
He turns his head away from Amy momentarily to look out the window at the snow that's been falling since dusk. The corners of the window are covered in delicate frost tendrils, twisting and curling into elaborate designs. Colin wishes he could be looking at them from outside, instead of from in his bedroom, immobile and awkward with Amy's head between his legs.  
  
Amy ignores Colin's clammy hand clumsily stroking her hair. She ignores his useless arm lying limp at his side. But Amy can't ignore the name that Colin exhales when his eyelids finally flutter, his chest rises, and his features relax. Her eyes grow bright, glossy. The intensity of their hurt is scorching.  
  
Amy is gone before Colin can think of the words for an apology.  
  
ii.  
  
Colin showers without feeling the scalding water stream down his body, which is still scrawny from months in a hospital bed. Dressing awkwardly, he sees the snow falling outside the bathroom window. He goes back to his room and locks the door, pushing his bare feet into his shoes before slipping out the window.  
  
His breath takes strange shapes in front of him as he walks, snow crunching under him. Water and carbon dioxide molecules rearrange themselves to form faces he can't remember and two that he can't forget. Colin breathes slower, through his nose, to avoid them.  
  
Colin's shirt is damp with snow. He touches a hand to his wet hair and finds that clumps of it have begun to freeze. Ice, he thinks. I'll be blue when they find my body. The wind picks up, blowing through his thin shirt and cementing his jeans to his legs.  
  
My corpse will be frozen. Not even Amy's tears will melt me. Colin turns against the wind to wipe a snowflake out of his eye, and then takes in the white silence around him. Cars, bushes, trees hidden under fluffy snow.  
  
A bike. Leaning against a back step, the porch light illuminating it. Colin has walked to Ephram's house.  
  
iii.  
  
The lights in the neighbor's houses are all turned off, their occupants sleeping. The light in the Browns' family room is on, spilling into the front yard. Dr. Brown's car, Colin notices, is not parked along the sidewalk.  
  
Colin walks across the lawn and up the porch steps to the front door. His hand stops midway to the doorbell, and lowers slowly. The closed door stares at him accusingly. This is warm. You don't belong here. He turns, steps away from the door, and remembers that he doesn't know how to get home from here.  
  
The click of the lock seems as loud as a gunshot and Colin jumps. "Dad? Took you - Colin?" Colin turns again, hesitant, his eyes on the ground. Ephram takes a step outside, flinching when his bare foot touches the cold wood of the porch, and pulls Colin inside by the shoulder.  
  
"Colin, what the fuck are you doing?" Ephram's voice is a mixture of puzzlement and concern. Colin's clothes and hair are covered in snow, and his lips are a dark purple bordering on blue. His skin is nearly as pale as the snow. "Are you - is everything okay?"  
  
Ice, Colin thinks. I am ice; I am fine. "I'm ." He trails off. Ephram reaches around Colin to close the door. His hand brushes against Colin's arm. "Cold," Colin whispers.  
  
"C'mon," Ephram says softly. "You need to warm up." He leads Colin upstairs and down a hallway, pushes open a door and motions for him to go in. Colin complies mutely, looking around him at what must be Ephram's room. The walls are covered with posters and pictures. The bed is unmade, navy blue and white blankets in disarray.  
  
Ephram opens the bottom drawer of the bureau and hands him a blanket before realizing that Colin can't wrap it around himself one-handed. Colin gives it back to Ephram, humiliated, but Ephram just unfolds it and drapes it over Colin's shoulders. "D'you want me to call someone?" he asks, then adds quickly, "I won't, you know, if you don't want me to, but -"  
  
"Could you, um, not?" Colin bites his lip nervously. "I just, I don't want anyone to worry."  
  
The corner of Ephram's mouth twitches; he nods. "Sure. Okay. I'm gonna go leave a note for my dad, tell him to call your parents in the morning so they don't freak out or something." He rummages through two more drawers, gives Colin a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt. "These should fit, I think."  
  
Ephram leaves and Colin once again struggles through the ordeal of changing, made more difficult by his now-wet clothes. Nevertheless, he's finished by the time Ephram knocks lightly on the door.  
  
"It's okay," Colin tells him. Ephram enters, and Colin sees for the first time that he's already wearing pajamas. Something uncurls inside his stomach, and his chest tightens. Ice, he reminds himself. "Where should I, uh ."  
  
"Take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor." Ephram's head jerks towards his dresser, indicating the extra blankets.  
  
"You don't have to do that." Colin runs his good hand through his hair. "I mean, I could sleep on the floor or, hell, the bed is big enough, you could -"  
  
Ephram shakes his head. "Nah, man, it's cool. The floor isn't that bad." He begins taking more blankets out of the bottom drawer.  
  
Colin begins to shiver. "Well, um, I was just thinking, you know, because the bed is cold. And you're, um, warm, and ." He's sure he sounds pathetic, and he hates himself for it.  
  
"Are you okay with that? I mean, sharing the bed?" Ephram asks, his tone strangely neutral.  
  
"I guess." Colin shrugs and stares at the floor.  
  
Ephram closes the drawer, shuts the door, walks over to the bed, and pulls back the blankets. "Okay." He sits down, brings his legs up, arranges the sheets to his liking. "You coming?"  
  
Colin shakes himself and slides in next to Ephram, who clicks off the lamp on his bedside table, plunging the room into darkness. Colin becomes suddenly aware of how loudly his teeth are chattering. You are not shaking, he thinks. You are a statue. Statues don't shiver.  
  
He closes his eyes, sees Amy's face, opens them. Repeats the name, not in release but in desperation. "Ephram?" The sheets rustle and the weight beside him shifts.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Colin swallows, takes a ragged breath. He struggles to get the words out. "I'm - so - cold." He exhales, tries to relax his muscles.  
  
"I know," Ephram whispers. "D'you want another blanket?"  
  
"Yeah . thanks," Colin answers gratefully.  
  
Ephram switches the light back on and gets out of bed, careful not to pull the covers away from Colin. He pulls a green and red plaid fleece blanket from the pile in front of his dresser and settles it over Colin's body, pulling the top of it up to just under his chin. He gets back into bed and turns out the light, sighing gently as his body sinks into the mattress.  
  
The combination of the extra blanket and Ephram's body heat lets Colin warm up enough to stop shivering, but he still feels chilled. He coughs, clearing his throat. "Um . could you maybe . um, move closer?" He cringes, waits for Ephram to kick him out of bed, but the other boy doesn't move. "It's just that, you know, you're like, really warm and I'm still sort of cold."  
  
"Sure." Ephram's voice sounds tight, unsteady. He inches toward Colin until their shoulders are touching. Colin's good hand reaches for Ephram in the darkness, locates his hand under the covers and grasps it lightly.  
  
When Ephram doesn't say anything, Colin rolls onto his side, lowers his head and presses his lips against the corner of Ephram's mouth, his aim slightly off. Ephram stiffens, and his grip on Colin's hand loosens. Their eyes meet fleetingly before Colin pulls away quickly, his cheeks burning.  
  
"Jesus, I'm sorry, I don't know what -" he begins.  
  
"It's okay."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I just - wasn't ready." Ephram brings Colin's good hand to the hem of his shirt, places the fingers under the material and inhales sharply at their chill. "I'm ready now," he whispers.  
  
Colin's kiss is a little less hesitant this time, and while Ephram seems to return the sentiment, his mouth stays chastely closed. Colin's hand cautiously creeps up Ephram's torso under his shirt, but stops when Ephram's tongue brushes against his lips. Clumsily at first, their tongues slip against each other, wet and moist.  
  
When they pull apart, Colin has stopped shivering. He kisses Ephram again, gently. "You're so warm," he murmurs into Ephram's mouth. Ephram smiles into the kiss, nibbles Colin's lip softly.  
  
"So are you." He slips his hand into Colin's. "Turn over." He pushes against Colin's shoulder.  
  
Colin acquiesces and feels Ephram press himself against his back. An arm is draped over his side. Fingers crawl under his shirt, tracing patterns on his stomach. He laughs and stills the hand with his own. Ephram drops kisses into the curve of his neck.  
  
Colin closes his eyes, content and warm for the first time that he can remember, and drifts off to sleep. 


End file.
